What We Lost in the War
by Wordwryhta
Summary: And Draco Malfoy was watching as the light in Hermione Granger's eyes went out.
1. Disillusion

**Hello! For those of you who don't know me, I have been writing Gorillaz fanfiction for about a year. However, the idea for this story came to me, and it had to be written. As always, in my best work, my coauthor is my lovely sounding board and organizational goddess, Mandi'sMuse. She deserves every bit as much recognition as (if not more than) I do. Give her a wave, will ya?**

**This is a Draco and Hermione story, but don't worry, no one will be bashed unless they thoroughly deserve it -glares at Lucius Malfoy-**

**For those readers who have been following our Gorillaz story, _The Last Girl_, don't worry. A new update will be coming soon.**

**The title of this story is adapted from the title of a movie that I have not seen, _Things We Lost in the Fire_. I must assert that, as far as I know, the story bears no semblance to that movie. It is also important for me to note that I believe that there is something out there in the world with the title _What We Lost in the War_, but, try as I might to find it, I cannot. If there is some book, song, or movie with the same title, I give every bit of credit to the writer. **

_**What We Lost in the War **_**is rated "T" for mild violence and language. **

**All characters related to _Harry Potter_ are the sole property of J.K. Rowling, thank God. Only this story belongs to me.**

**I will not be suggesting many songs for this story unless one seems to fit perfectly with a chapter or a scene, but the song _Thistles and Weeds _by Mumford and Sons speaks beautifully to the entire story. Here are the lyrics:**

**Spare me your judgements and spare me your dreams,  
>Cause recently mine have been tearing my seams,<br>I sit alone in this winter clarity which clouds my mind,  
>Alone in the wind and the rain you left me,<br>It's getting dark darling, too dark to see,  
>And I'm on my knees, and your faith in shreds, it seems.<strong>

Corrupted by the simple sniff of riches blown,  
>I know you have felt much more love than you've shown,<br>And I'm on my knees and the water creeps to my chest.

But plant your hope with good seeds,  
>Don't cover yourself with thistle and weeds,<br>Rain down, rain down on me,  
>Look over your hills and be still,<br>The sky above us shoots to kill,  
>Rain down, rain down on me.<p>

But I will hold on  
>I will hold on hope<p>

I begged you to hear me, there's more than flesh and bones,  
>Let the dead bury their dead, they will come out in droves,<br>But take the spade from my hands and fill in the holes, you've made.

But plant your hope with good seeds,  
>Don't cover yourself with thistle and weeds,<br>Rain down, rain down on me.

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><p><em>Then leaf subsides to leaf. <em>  
><em>So Eden sank to grief, <em>  
><em>So dawn goes down to day. <em>  
><em>Nothing gold can stay.<em>

_-Robert Frost-_

There had been a time when he was innocent. There must have been. It couldn't have always been this way. The world couldn't have always been so full of pain, of torture, of death. He had felt safe in these walls once. As a child, he had been loved, nurtured. His parents had given him every privilege their position could afford him: an endless stream of lavish gifts, expensive clothes, equally privileged friends; and he had embraced it all, had taken it all in greedily. His parents had carefully planned, carefully selected every aspect of his life to ensure that he was everything a pureblood wizard boy should be, strong, influential, proud. He never felt stifled, though. He knew from a very young age, that his life would be planned for him, and he never questioned it, never wanted to. It was his world, and in this world, he, Draco Malfoy, was king. But that notion, that ideology, was faulty. In actuality, it was his father, Lucius Malfoy who ruled.

Even from a young age, Draco had paid little attention to anything but what his father did. In the presence of Lucius Malfoy, all else seemed insignificant, small. And Draco, like all young boys worshiped his father, emulated him. This was especially easy as this was expected of him, any other behavior was discouraged. In fact, Draco had always gotten the impression that he was being groomed to be the next Lucius Malfoy, not that he minded. His father commanded respect wherever he went. The man exuded power, presence, and even the most influential wizards kowtowed to Lucius Malfoy. And Draco loved it.

But as imposing of a figure that his father cut in the presence of lesser wizards, at Malfoy Manor, he was first and most Draco's father. As a child, Draco knew his father loved him. He loved the way his father beamed with pride when his son followed in his own footsteps. But the man who had been the doting father of his youth had undergone...changes. Draco thought back to pictures and stories that had been told of his father's youth. His mother had described Lucius as handsome, dashing, powerful, and she had felt "quite swept away" by him. By all accounts, he had been extremely interested and talented in business, politics, finance, and, it was no secret, the Dark Arts. Draco knew his father had been raised as he had, with an understanding and a fascination in darker magic and found great pride in the fact that his father had been a key member of the inner circle of the dreaded Death Eaters. But with the rise of the Dark Lord, Lucius Malfoy's grim fascination had become an all-consuming embrace. Where before, he had shown interest in the Dark Arts, now, he drowned in them, as though the blackest magic had become as important to him as air. He needed it the way Muggles needed their drugs. He had long since gone past a passing interest in Dark Arts to an addiction. It had turned the powerful presence of Lucius Malfoy into a threatening one. He was not the man he had been before.

Narcissa Malfoy, on the other hand, had been a stable presence in Draco life. For as long as he could remember, she had been there, always calm and collected, rarely letting inner turmoil and external circumstances affect her. It would have been unseemly for the wife of Lucius Malfoy to be given to frivolous emotion. Because of this, she often gave off the impression of coldness and condescension. But Draco knew better. She was his mother, fiercely protective and loving, devoted to her family and to her station. His fondest memories often involved fumbling along the grounds of Malfoy Manor, ducking in and out of the vast hedge mazes and digging his toes in the cool soil as he watched his mother tend to the delicate white and yellow crocuses in her small private garden. Not that he was an angelic child by any stretch of the word. His mother would often scold him for chasing the peacocks around the vast yard, throwing mud in the fountains, or pulling the whip-like branches off of a willow tree to make wands.

But childhood cannot remain forever, just as he was expected to stop throwing mud, Draco was now expected to be a Malfoy, strong, proud, powerful. That prospect changed dramatically when Lord Voldemort entered the picture. In his younger days, Draco had relished in the influence and power that associating with the name "Voldemort" had brought. At school, he basked in the fear by which many of his fellow students regarded him, boasted of his family's position within the ranks of the Death Eaters, threatened and cursed any who got in the way of his goals. When he was at Hogwarts, he envisioned the return of the Dark Lord as a time when the pure of blood would rule, and the lesser ones would serve and suffer. But now, The Dark Lord was no longer just a name, he was presence and he was violence, the embodiment of the darkness his father and he had cherished. While through Draco's childhood, the Dark Arts had been a theory, a hypothetical, a grim fascination, now they were all too real. And the dark deeds his father had not seemed willing to do when the Dark Lord had fallen were all around Draco, and, God help him, they scared him.

But Lucius Malfoy had failed Dark Lord, and his failure had fallen on Draco's head. And Draco had been given a task that he could not accomplish. He could not decide what he was more afraid of, failure or Lord Voldemort. Because with the Dark Lord came fear, a fear that settled into Malfoy Manor and taken up residence. Its presence as dark and wraith-like as a dementor, hovering over Draco's shoulder, devouring the innocence of his youth and leaving it's imposing weight on his chest, crushing him.

And the calm, comforting memory of his childhood had been banished from his home. The whiteness of innocence had been stained red with the blood of the dead, an endless stream of Muggles, Mudbloods, and Blood-traitors ran through the doors, nameless faces of the damned, doomed to perish at the hands of the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. There were so many of them, indistinct, blurred, running together like watercolors. He knew only one of their names, and the dizzying swirl of victims resolved themselves into the face of Charity Burbage. Though he had never lowered himself to take her class, Muggle Studies, he knew her face, had known of her since he first came to Hogwarts. Before her, he had managed to ignore the line of the dead that wended through his house, but the almost-familiarity of the Hogwarts teacher had startled him, drawn his attention. And his mistake had been that he had looked into those vaguely familiar eyes before the Dark Lord had snuffed them out.

It was the death of this woman, who had walked the same halls he had walked, who had eaten the same food he had eaten, who had breathed the same air he had breathed, that had begun to break through his ability to ignore what was going on around him. The horror of the atrocities being committed in his home began to seep into his bones and erode the cold shell of indifference he had built around himself. His disconcertion escalated when another girl was brought through the door: Luna Lovegood, that daft Ravenclaw girl with the long dirty blond hair and the globe like blue eyes, and suddenly, the victims weren't adults, they were kids like him, kids who he had known for years.

The swirling hurricane of fear and doubt pressed on him, tore at skin and soul, and he didn't know how much longer he could last before he completely crumbled under the weight of it all. He had considered running, putting as much distance between himself and this bloody war, but he knew that there was no way out. He had become too close to the Dark Lord to bow out now. If he did, he knew his parents would pay the price for his defection. Death would be his only release, but he was too much of a coward for that.

And now, as he stood in his room, gazing out over the grounds of Malfoy Manor, he found himself waiting. Waiting for death, waiting for release, waiting for something, anything that would bring an end to the uncertainty and fear. Death. Life. Loss. Victory. He didn't know which he wanted anymore. All he knew was that he wanted it to end. He was tired. God, he was tired.

But there was no rest for him. The river of souls still flowed through his house and it was to this purpose that the door to his room opened and his mother's voice floated over to him. "Draco, come downstairs. Your father would like to have a word with you."

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><p><strong>So there is the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed it and will enjoy what's to come. Give love if you have it!<strong>


	2. Fire

**It's time for chapter 2!**

**Can I get a witness for Mandi'sMuse? Couldn't do this without her.**

**This occurs when Harry, Ron, and Hermione are captured by the Snachers and taken to Malfoy Manor. For the first part, I used Rowling's dialogue (Why mess with a great thing?) with some minor changes that were necessary to the flow of the story, but as you can see, it veers violently off course once Harry and Ron escape from the cellar.**

**Many eternal thanks go to The Hazel-Eyed Angel for actually reviewing my story! I know! Unheard of (apparently).**

* * *

><p>It was the slight edge in his mother's voice that drew his eyes to meet with hers. Something was wrong. He could feel the tension rippling the air.<p>

"What is it, mother?"

"There's someone-" her voice trembled slightly before she strode forward and took her son in her arms. "Draco...just do what you have to do," she whispered furtively in his ear.

Draco's steel gray eyes widened at this sudden outburst of emotion from his mother and turned his head to look at her face. Her eyes were strained, and her lips were drawn into a taut line. To Draco, who knew his mother better than anyone, better than even his father, she seemed to be steeling herself for something. Her hands clasped onto his arm as though if she let go, she would crumble to the ground.

A cold chill swept through his bones, "Mother?" He swallowed, "Wha-"

But she didn't respond. With a last unreadable glance at her son, Narcissa swept out of his room. He listened for a few moments to the soft sounds of her feet on the stairs and the distant hum of excited voices beneath him. Yes, something was definitely happening. He could feel it now, electric and alive, surging through the walls. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and erected.

"DRACO!" his father's cold voice sliced through the floor, and he started as his feet began to move out the door, through the hallway, to the stairs that stretched endlessly down as though an extending spell had been cast upon them. Lucius Malfoy's face, shiny and ecstatic appeared at the bottom of the landing.

"Come, Draco," he leered, and Draco felt a chill run down his spine as he slowly descended the stairs. Inch by inch, the parlor came into view. It was almost full to bursting. His parents, that beastly werewolf Grayback, and several other people were already there. Scanning his eyes slowly across the crowd, he recognized many of them as Snatchers. Then his eyes fell on the small gathering of people who he realized was bound in a tight cluster in the center of the room. He vaguely registered the presence of a goblin and a fellow Hogwarts student from his year, but it was the other three figures in the room that held his attention rapt.

"They say they've got Potter," his mother's voice, trained into a cold aloofness drifted over to him as Greyback turned the group. The figure he presented to Draco was shorter than he with greasy, shoulder-length black hair and a grotesquely swollen face. But there was something about this hideous face, a familiarity that chilled his skin and melted his insides. His stomach sank as his brain cast about defiantly, searching frantically for something, anything that would object to what he knew was true.

"Well, Draco?" his father rasped in his ear. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

Draco, his eyes firmly planted on the other boy's shoulder, stuttered, "Ican't—I can't be sure."

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" his father said, his voice shaking with excitement, anticipation. "Draco," he choked, "if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv -"

His father was cut off by Greyback's growl, "Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Of course not, of course not!" dismissed his father as he strode forward to scrutinize the boy closer. "What did you do to him? How did he get into this state?"

Grayback snarled defensively, "That wasn't us."

"Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me," his father muttered before leaning closer. The boy turned his head slightly, but it was too late. Lucius whispered excitedly, "There's something there, it could be the scar stretched tight...Draco, come here, look properly."

Suddenly, Draco felt a tight grip close almost painfully on his arm. Behind him, his mother gave a small gasp.

The grotesque boy's face came into sharp focus, and, try as he might, Draco couldn't keep his face from sweeping up and locking eyes with him. The vivid green irises were impossible to mistake. Though swollen from a jinx and travel worn from months of hiding in the wilderness, Draco knew he was looking into the face of Harry Potter.

This was it. This was the defining moment he had been searching for. Draco thought how easy it would be to just confess what he knew was true. It would all be over, then. The Dark Lord would be called, and Potter would be dead. Draco's family would be a revered and feared force in the Dark Lord's regime, and Draco would at long last be free of the abiding fear that had lived in his house, in his bones for so long.

But was that true? Would the Dark Lord's reign usher the magical world into order and rightness? Would his family be able to find the power and respect Draco had known as a child? What he had seen so far didn't attest to that. What he had seen so far had been terror and blood. Even the Dark Lord's closest Death Eaters hadn't been safe from his terrifying wrath. Draco knew that if Lord Voldemort was successful, the fear that had settled into Malfoy Manor would spread, would settle into the ground and the trees and infect the land until there was nowhere safe from it.

"_No," _his mind screamed_. "No, no, no..."_

"What do you think?"

Draco jumped at hearing his father's voice so near to his and trained his eyes into the same indifference his mother was displaying, "I don't know." The words fell out before he could stop them, and he felt the coldness wash over him. Again, his cowardice would win, and he would do nothing to aid or stop the inevitable. With that, he straightened and turned to stand next to his mother at the fireplace.

Their eyes met for only a flicker of a second, but he saw the fear in them before she spoke in her affectedly cold voice, "We had better be certain, Lucius. Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord...They say this is his, but it does not resemble Ollivander's description...If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing...Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov."

Only Draco could hear the slight tremble in her voice as she spoke, examining the wand that Potter had carried.

"What about the Mudblood, then?"

Draco's eyes flicked up as the group was turned and the chandelier light fell on the unmistakable form of Hermione Granger. Her eyes darted fearfully around the room, and Draco couldn't stop the thought that, out of all of the people in the room, she probably had the most to fear.

His mother choked next to him, and his father said excitedly, "Wait! Yes – yes, she was in Flourish and Blotts' with Potter! I saw her picture in the _Prophet_! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

Draco pointedly avoided looking into the girl's eyes as they fell on him, "I...maybe...yeah."

His father ignored the hesitation in his son's voice, "But then, that's the Weasly boy! It's them, Potter's friends – Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasly's son, what's his name – ?"

"Yea," Draco could see Weasly shaking with rage as he glared at Draco's father. "It could be."

"What is this? What's happened Cissy?"

Draco's blood ran cold as his Aunt's voice drifted like a black cloud over to him. Beside him, he could feel his mother stiffen as Aunt Bella circled the bound group.

She gasped, "But surely, this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"

His father shrieked excitedly, "Yes, yes, it's Granger! And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!"

"Potter? Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!"

"_NO, NO, NO"_ the voice in Draco's head screamed again as he watched his aunt reach for the Dark Mark on her arm. His mother shifted uncomfortably next to him.

Lucius Malfoy unknowingly saved the day, "I was about to call him!"

Relief surged over Draco as his father and his aunt argued, and his eyes accidentally rose to meet with Granger's. Months of being on the run had not been kind to her. She had always been thin, but now, she was positively waifish and her dirty skin pale and waxen. Her always unruly brown curls flared wildly out from her skull, and Draco was sure he could see twigs and dead leaves trapped in the masses. But it was her eyes that held his attention. Though they were wide and filled with terror, he could see the fire within them. It was the same vibrant fire that alit on him when they were in school and he had insulted her or called her _mudblood_. It was the fire that, no matter what he said, no matter how hard he tried, he could not extinguish. Somehow, as he watched her, the sound of the other people in the room bickering around them, he felt grounded, spellbound.

But the spell was broken by his mother's voice, "Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."

"Wait," his aunt ordered. "All except...except for the Mudblood."

Draco's stomach gave a sickening lurch at the look on Greyback's face.

For the first time since the Golden Trio had arrived at Malfoy Manor, one of them spoke. "No! You can have me, keep me!" Weasly's voice sounded desperate, but a sharp slap from Draco's aunt silenced him momentarily.

"If she dies under questioning, I'll take you next. Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet."

As the werewolf led the rest of the prisoners downstairs, Draco heard his sickeningly silky voice float up to him, "Reckon she'll let me have a bit of the girl when she's finished with her? I'd say I'll get a bite or two, wouldn't you, ginger?"

His mother heard it too, and stiffened next to him. Something dangerous twisted inside of Draco at Greyback's disgusting words, and his eyes met with Granger's again before his aunt's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Now, Mudblood," she sneered. "Talk – Crucio!"

All other thought rushed out of Draco's mind as Granger's piercing scream sliced through the air.

* * *

><p>Time compressed and stretched before him as he watched the girl being tortured writhe at his feet. Every time his aunt's <em>Cruciatus <em>curse struck Granger's body, Granger would arch so violently that only her feet and the crown of her head remained on the ground. He had seen his aunt use this curse countless times before, but it was always as though she were a cat playing with a particularly fat mouse. Now, however, Draco could feel the rage emanating from his Aunt Bella – rage at the possibility of having her private vault invaded, rage at having the great Harry Potter in her grasp and being unable to call the Dark Lord. Now, his aunt was pouring all of that rage into her spell, and Granger was feeling the brunt of it. Below, he could hear Ron Weasly's agonized screams floating up from the cellar.

Occasionally, Granger's anguished eyes would meet his, and he would close them or look away. He didn't like the feelings of pity that surged through him. They confused him. He hated Hermione Granger – hated her blood, hated her superior attitude, hated the way magic came easily to her, hated the way her very existence called into question the entire notion of blood superiority. But still, there they were, these feelings. And he didn't want to look another person in the eyes before they died.

Still, his aunt tortured, cursed the girl until he was sure she would break. But Draco still see the fire in Granger's eyes. As long as that fire was there, she would not break.

He jumped as his aunt rounded on the goblin she had sent Draco to fetch not long before.

"Well? Is it the true sword?"

In spite of himself, his eyes fell on Granger. She was looking at the goblin, wide-eyed.

"No. It's a fake."

"Are you sure? Quite sure?"

"Yes."

Draco couldn't help but be encouraged by the relief that spread across his aunt's face.

"Good," she smiled before turning to look at the tortured girl on the floor. Draco's relief vanished as quickly as it had come upon seeing the look she gave Granger. "And I think we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback," a lecherous grin broke across the werewolf's face as Draco's aunt addressed him, "take her if you want her."

"NO!"

A hand closed painfully on his arm as Ron Weasly, carrying Wormtail's wand, exploded into the room, the wand trained on Bellatrix. Deep dread washed over Draco as Potter and Lovegood followed him out of the cellar.

The voice was back, _"No, no, no – "_

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Bellatrix's wand flew out of her hand and clattered to the floor across the room. Potter, clutching Lovegood's hand, dove for it as Weasly kept his wand focused on Draco, his parents and Greyback. Finally, Potter caught it and looked toward Draco who lifted his wand in defense.

_"Expelliarmus!"_ Potter shouted and Draco cursed under his breath as his wand shot out of his hand and into Potter's. Next to him, his mother gasped and raised her wand.

_She never got to use it as a sudden great __crash_ issued throughout the drawing room. The massive chandelier above them gave a shuddering jolt before falling violently to the ground. Potter and Lovegood were separated as they rolled to avoid the massive structure. Draco dove in front of his mother as shards of crystal sliced through the air and pieces of the chandelier tore into his face. Nearby, he could hear his father and aunt scream as they, too were cut.

"_No, no, no – "_

From his father's position in the room, he saw a wand raise into the air and train on Weasly, who was sprinting across the floor to Granger trapped under the twisted remains of the chandelier.

"_No, no, no!"_

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Time slowed to a near stop as the jet of green light sliced through the air. Draco could feel the electric heat it gave as it moved across the room and struck Weasly in the chest. His knees buckled underneath him, and his mouth lolled open in surprise as he dropped to the floor. His glassed-over eyes fell on Granger as Ron Weasly's soul left his body. And Draco was watching as the fire inside of Hermione Granger's eyes went out.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Potter's screams spurred time forward, and he made to scramble toward Granger as Draco's father's wand moved to aim toward the girl. Her eyes were still focused on the red head lying next to her. Draco couldn't watch and squeezed his own eyes shut.

"_No, no, no!"_

"Avada-"

"You will not harm Hermione Granger!"

Draco forced his eyes open and saw his former house elf grasping at Potter, who was struggling to free himself from its knobby fingers.

"Hermione!" Potter shrieked

Lovegood's head popped over a sofa, "Go, Dobby!" she cried. "Get Harry out of here!"

"NO!" Potter screamed, tears streaming down his face, as he ripped and clawed at Dobby's tiny hands, "HERMIONE!"

The goblin, quite forgotten in the chaos, dove forward and latched onto Dobby's leg as the elf snatched Bellatrix's wand in his tiny hand and apparated in a great _crack!_

Breathless and in pain, Draco watched the spot where Potter and the elf had disappeared, and Lovegood sank to the floor, her eyes focused on her dead friend. From across the room, his aunt shrieked in rage. She stood and snatched Lucius' wand in her hand before turning it on Granger.

"CRUCIO!"

Granger's body arched violently but her eyes never strayed from Weasly's lifeless ones.

"Bella," his mother gasped, "Potter is gone. What is the point?"

"She is Potter's friend! I will make her suffer, Cissy!" his aunt's shrill voice was riddled with rage. "I WILL BREAK HER!"

Inside, Draco found it useless that Aunt Bella. In a cosmic sense, it was kind of funny. His aunt hadn't seen what he had seen. If she had, she wouldn't have wasted her curses. If she had, she would have known that Granger was already broken. If she had, she would have seen the fire inside of Hermione Granger had already gone out.

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><p><strong>You still there? Good. I hope you don't hate me too much, but I really love this story and hope you will too. :D<strong>


	3. Not goodbye!

Okay guys, here's the deal.

Things in Wordwryhtaland aren't all that fun. With recovering from my hospital visit, the recent storms, moving to a new apartment (in which we might not have internet for a month or so), and starting school, it may be a bit before I can update my stories. Rest assured, though: THEY WILL GET UPDATED! I love "The Last Girl" and "What We Lost in the War" too much to let them fall to the wayside.

I am deeply sorry. I know I've been a bit of a git ;D for not updating faithfully, but I promise I will make it up to you.

P.S. To my Gorillaz fans, check out my story "What We Lost in the War". It is a Harry Potter story, but it's going to be awesome.

Please pray for my co-author, Mandi'sMuse and her husband. What with having to take their baby to the emergency room (she's fine, just a bump to the head) and her husband spending a week in the hospital, they're having a rough time. She'd love to know that your prayers are with her. I love you, GoJo!

When the stories get up and running again, I will delete this chapter and repost it with the new one, so add them to your alerts! That way you knows when they's updateds!

Wordwryhta out,

PEACE!


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